We are who we are. War teaches us many things, but this is the most important.
-General Magdalena Zakharova, General Commander of the First Field Army, First Army Group of the Nile
Bow not your head, weary maiden, though trouble line your way. The night is ever passing, giving way to brightest day.
-Amateur Poetry, attributed to 2nd Lt. Cassie Rowling, deceased 2442, age 10
The towers of Canary Wharf stretched up and over Emma's head. She felt grass prickling against the backs of her knees. Looking to her left, Emma saw the familiar stands, decorated in red and white bunting, of South London's Stadium One, where everything from football matches to music concerts to public celebrations were staged.
Emma had been there several times to watch the London Arsenal, a football club with centuries of tradition, do battle against the other clubs across Great Britain. She had a jersey in her room, back home, and had played for the Junior League team attached to them.
Smiling nostalgically, Emma turned to her right. She blinked in surprise. There was her team, doing their warmups before a match. They were dressed in the home colors, red with white sleeves and a black cuff. Moments later, a smallish figure ran up. The team welcomed her, one of them scolding her for being late. Emma watched herself laugh sheepishly and apologize profusely.
Emma's smile broadened. She remembered that game, where she'd managed a stunning hook shot that had bounced off the post and into the goal. That was right before Amelia had advanced to the Youth League, and she'd handed the team captaincy over to Emma. She'd been the youngest person on the team at the time, but half the team was leaving with Amelia. They'd needed someone to lead, and Emma had been declared the best one for the job. It had been an honor.
It occurred to Emma that she wasn't breathing. This didn't trouble her very much, but perhaps breathing was something that should be done? Emma inhaled deeply and nearly gagged as the harsh taste of salt water flooded her mouth. Trained battle instinct kept her from coughing, but she didn't have the talent to convert water into oxygen, much less—
—She was fine.
Emma felt her panic subside as she slowly pumped water in and out of her lungs. It was hard work, the fluid of greater viscosity than air. Slowly, she got used to it. Her team had disappeared from the sidelines as she lay there breathing slowly, so she decided to sit up. It was a little more difficult than usual, and she quickly found out why.
It seemed that she'd become a mermaid.
Well that certainly explained the breathing-water-thing.
Emma suddenly wished she had a cigarette. It wasn't that she smoked, but it would probably look really cool if she were to calmly light up a smoke while considering her situation. Instead, she rummaged in the pockets of her hoody and found a package of crisps. Nodding to herself sagely, Emma opened the package and extracted one.
"This," she said to herself, eyeing the sliver of potato. "Is unusual."
Emma considered her tail as she munched her way through the crisps. The end didn't feel that much different from her feet, really, and she could flop it back and forth quite easily. A bit of flexing let her paddle the entire thing, though it tipped her backwards with a thud and a series of lost crisps.
Giving the crisps up as a bad job, Emma levered herself off the ground with a grunt and hovered in midwater. A gentle wave of her tail sent her drifting upwards, towards the roof of Stadium One. The awning had been rolled back, letting her swim straight up and through.
Stadium One was underneath a great deal of London's transit system, but attempts had been made to avoid covering the field anymore than was strictly necessary. Emma swam slowly through the empty streets. It did not occur to her that this was unusual. On the contrary, she found the silence rather pleasant. No—
—bombs, explosions, fire, death—
—sounds to distract her from the sun shining over head, the light drifting through the water and the pipes. She paused to check a street sign for directions. It was rusted and pitted, great holes punched through it with—
—lasers, railguns, cannon fire—
—some sort of hole punch, to make it lighter probably. Emma turned left towards the Shizuki Business Complex and swam up, towards the five hundred and eighty-second level. Hashimoto and Sinclair Investments and Securities had been founded by Emma's great-grandfather with a man named Clarence Hashimoto. The two businessmen had grown enormously successful working with the first few colonies, operating off planet but managing everything from London.
Emma's grandfather, Jonathan, nearly destroyed it. Such was the fate of many a business. Jonathan Sinclair unfortunately hadn't inherited his father's particular knack for investments, and all seemed lost. That was until the company was bought out by Shizuki Holdings Company, incorporated, and the offices moved to Shizuki Tower Three.
It was funny, most businesses didn't see the sort of iterative family inheritance that Hashimoto and Sinclair had seen. Yet it had happened. This was considered odd, but ultimately unremarkable. Some things were genetic, after all. Ami Hashimoto was still running the London offices, and technically Emma and Anna were supposed to jointly be taking over their parent's positions in the headquarter offices in Mitakihara.
Emma did not care about this history though. She was the exception. She had been going for a career in football before the move to Japan. Emma swam up through the empty tubes and walkways to stare unhappily through the office window where her parents used to work. There they were, the strings of money threading through their hands as they manipulated accounts hither and yon.
The strings stretched out to the windows and doors. Emma opened the window. A rush of water nearly pulled her in and buffeted her parents about. They swayed in the watery breeze, but returned back to their original position.
Spitefully, emma grabbed a handful of strings and tugged. The strings ripped out of her parents' hands with the sound of ripping paper. Red blood gushed into the water, spreading in a growing bloom. Emma's parents screamed as they caught on fire, crumpling to the floor and dispersing into flecks of ash.
What, no, she didn't want to—
The fire spread down the strings. Shocked and horrified, Emma barely managed to drop the strings in time to avoid being burned. She backpaddled, but crashed into yet more strings. As she struggled, the lines twined around her tail and arms and throat and the fire was getting closer and it was burning her it hurt it hurt it HURT—
—Emma coughed, seawater rushing out of her mouth with each heave. With a gasp, she managed to get herself to her hands and knees before she vomited up more sea water. Finally, the water subsided, and Emma could see where she was.
It was a beach. The beach stretched into the distance as far she could see, nothing but sand and sand and sand. The sand was a shade of white that nearly blinded her. Emma stumbled painfully to her feet and looked behind her. The ocean was a bright azure, clear as glass all the way to the bottom, where palm trees swayed paradoxically over a small resort house.
Emma backed away from the water, then turned and trudged to a sand dune. She dropped to the ground bonelessly, her limbs and joints protesting movement of any kind. Sand settled into her clothing and crawled into her pants. Emma fished a soggy packet of crisps from her hoodie and contemplated their soaked contents.
The crisps were upended onto her jeans, whereupon Emma mashed slowly them together to form a mound. This was set aside to bake in the sun.
Time passed. Overhead, the sun beat down with scorchingly hot rays. Emma's skin dried and peeled from the salt and the heat, cracking and splitting as she lay against the dune. She needed water and shade, but neither could be found here.
Emma suddenly found herself sitting outside the gates of a large castle. She looked out to sea. The ocean was still there. She looked behind her. The sand was still there. She looked up. The sun had not moved.
Emma got to her feet and stepped across the drawbridge to the gate of the castle. She knocked twice. The doors creaked open. A piano gently plinked its way through a recurring melody, followed by the deep sigh of the piano's base notes and a violin's gentle refrain.
It was the most soothing piece of music Emma had heard in a long time. She closed her eyes to listen more closely.
"It's called Spiegel im Spiegel, for Violin and Piano," said a girl's voice to Emma's right. "It was composed by a man named Arvo Pärt, from Estonia."
"Where's Estonia?" asked Emma.
"It's in Europe," said the voice. A hand landed upon her shoulder. "I'd tell you more, but you seem tired. Would you like to rest a bit?"
Emma sighed. "I would."
The hand gently tugged her backwards, until Emma fell and landed gently on a bed. With a sigh, she turned over and pulled a pillow towards her, snuggling into the soft cotton fabric and letting her tired body relax. The sheets were pulled over her naked form, just heavy enough to ward off a chill but light enough that she felt no discomfort.
"Sleep well," said another voice, older, wiser, female. A gentle kiss was placed upon Emma's head, before she faded from all thought and sensation.
…
Emma snapped awake with a gasp, hand feeling for a gun that wasn't there. She sat bolt upright, reaching out with her magic as she—
—encountered absolutely nothing. She was sitting on a bed, sheets pooled around her waist, with a gentle spring-time sun wending in through the curtains on her right. With a sigh, Emma fell back. The sound of a violin drifted through her room. Emma lay staring at the top of the bed's four posts for a solid minute, before she climbed out of bed. A simple white dress waited for her on a side table. There were no underclothes, but Emma found she was not terribly bothered by this.
The dress now on, Emma made her way out the door and down a small flight of steps into what looked like a common area. A fireplace, cold but well swept, was to one side, and a variety of tables, chairs, and sofas were scattered around the room. Emma followed the sound of music out of the room and onto a covered walkway.
The walkway ran around a garden full of gently pink roses, heavy and in full bloom. Each bloom was unique, each bush carefully trimmed and maintained. A fountain tinkled in the center, a table and chairs beside it. Emma appreciated the aesthetics, but ignored these in favor of following the music down the walkway and around the corner.
A full concert orchaestra swelled into being as Emma turned and found herself walking down the rows of a concert hall. She paused and glanced back. The walkway had turned into a lobby.
Somewhat alarmed, but not feeling threatened, Emma continued walking. A ticket was on the ground in front of her. Emma picked it up.
"Row B, seat 1," read Emma. She looked down the empty concert hall and saw two heads in row B. One pink, one blue, sitting in seats two and three, respectively, from the aisle.
Intrigued, Emma made her way down. She took her seat beside pink.
"How did you sleep?" asked Pink.
"I feel a lot better," said Emma honestly. She turned to look at the person she was addressing and found a girl her age, handing a bag of popcorn to her.
"The concession stand really does a good job with these," said Pink, smiling enthusiastically. "I hope the music isn't too old for you."
"I've heard worse," said Emma, taking the popcorn with a nod of thanks. She tried a few. They tasted of cheese and garlic. "What's your name?"
"What is yours?" asked Pink.
"I'm—," Emma began, before stopping short. "…I'm… I don't remember."
"Hm, that is problematic," said Pink. "Oh well. Look, the film is starting."
Emma looked up. The hall had turned into theater. She saw two girls, about age six, running through a grassy field, laughing. The two wore identical clothing, had very similar faces, but the one doing the chasing was just a little different from the other.
Strings swelled in, powering over the crunch of popcorn kernels as Emma ate. The girls grew up. The chasing girl now had stopped, pausing and then lingering and then staying beside a table of papers and pencils. The running girl looked a little sad, before she turned and picked up a football, and began bouncing it on her head.
At first, both girls looked back at each other, as if waiting for the other to follow, but they eventually moved on.
The key of the music shifted. The girls were now being buffeted by winds. The girl by the table quickly braced her arms against her papers and caught them before they flew off. The footballer tried to stay with her ball, but couldn't. It bounced away and into a river, which quickly built into a roaring rapids.
Crying, the footballer turned to the girl by the table. With the winds dying down now, the girl was able to pull the footballer into an embrace and comfort her. Sniffling, the footballer let herself be guided to the table, where both girls set about with the papers and pencils.
"Here."
Emma blinked and looked down. A handkerchief was being offered to her.
"Oh," said Emma. "Thank you."
Drops of water fell from Emma's eyes and landed on the handkerchief. Emma set the popcorn aside and wiped her eyes.
Emma was confused. "Why am I crying?"
"Because you remember," said Pink.
Emma blinked. She remembered when she had first arrived in Mitakihara, the despair she had felt when she found out that there was effectively no football league there. She remembered retreating to her room, hiding under the bed, and crying for hours.
Her life had ended that day. Or at least, it had felt like it had.
"It still hurts," said Emma, biting her lip. "I… I could have wished to be able to play again. That would have been great, to have a team to play with once again. I miss it."
"Sometimes, though, we can't change the circumstances around us, can we?" asked Blue. She sighed wistfully. "Even if you give it everything you have."
"No, we can't," said Emma. She swallowed thickly as the footballer grew, both in size and in discontent. She recognized herself now, remembered all the things she had done. All the things she had hated with a passion, and how much she had wanted to go back to London.
But as with all things, that had faded with time, hadn't it?
"…Nothing is forever," said Emma. "I… I had forgotten."
Pink nodded. The movie ended with a rattle and a hum. Emma breathed a deep, shaky sigh. Pink touched her shoulder gently. "You don't have to go. If you would like, you can say here."
"I really do need to leave, though," said Emma. She swallowed again, and handed Pink back her handkerchief. "My platoon died, and I can't let that go to waste. Thank you for your hospitality, and for helping me remember."
"A lot of wishes just need a little encouragement to blossom fully," said Pink. She stood now, radiant in white, amber eyes looking at Emma with pride and confidence. The theater had disappeared into an infinite star field. "We like to help out when we can."
"You still haven't fulfilled your wish, after all," said Blue. "You can do better." She was clothed for battle, a white cape slung about her shoulders and fastened with a golden clasp. "It's going to get dark and scary out there, but we know you can do it."
"Don't be afraid," continued the Goddess. "Remember, the darkness will always pass. You have the strength to stand up to it."
"And if you can't, don't forget about your friends. They'll always be there for you," said Blue. She glanced at the Goddess, almost guiltily. "Even if sometimes, you can't see it."
"I understand," said Emma. Her costume swirled into place upon her body, halberd appearing in her grasp. "I won't forget your advice. Thank you, again. For everything."
The Goddess smiled. Blue nodded respectfully.
"You're very welcome."
A bright flash of pink.
In the bunker, Emma's body lay still.
Her soul gem glimmered dimly.
The light, the single shining point within, flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And held.